And lo, we reach the end.

With this, the curtain closes on the "Good Intentions" verse.

I originally had plenty of ideas left for where I might take this particular variation on YGO canon, but the woman I started these stories with—all three of them—passed away a couple of years ago. It just doesn't feel right to make any kind of new stuff for this verse without her.

So, instead, I'm finishing what we started.

Thank you so much for joining me on this journey. I know it took a long time, but I hope it was worthwhile. I hope you had fun, and that you got something out of it. I certainly did.

Catch y'all on the next one.

.

"I kinda feel like the universe is making fun of us."

Mokuba was lounging in his brother's office, having made a detour after a quick trip to the kitchen to check on the next snack run. Seto was typing using a rounded keyboard designed specifically for his left hand; he stopped.

He didn't look over at his brother, but he said: "How so?"

"I mean," Mokuba gesticulated randomly, "all the time we spent dealing with magic and stuff? And it was all stupid and ridiculous and stupid?" Seto cracked a smile. "I thought . . . y'know, when the pharaoh left, that was gonna be the end of it. I thought we'd be able to get back to a regular life, whatever that means for people like us. A life that made sense."

"It's an unfortunate truth, I think," Seto said, "that if the universe does have a will of its own, it also has a rather sarcastic sense of humor."

"Kisara talks about gods sometimes," Mokuba pointed out, reaching down and plucking his cat up from the threshold as Sausage came into the room; the animal merped in what might have been protest, but quickly started purring. "Are we gonna have to, like, convert or something?"

"I have never had any intention of acknowledging any god to the point of worship," Seto said shortly. "Whether they exist or not is immaterial. Have they earned my faith? Thus far, the answer is no. If they want me to pay attention, they'll have to do something about it."

"Maybe this is them doing something," Mokuba said.

Seto finally looked up from his work. "Maybe," he said.

"I always felt bad," Mokuba admitted, "'cuz I couldn't ever remember . . . y'know. Mom and Dad."

"I know."

"But now I . . . I've met them. I know them. And, at least for now, they're living here."

"At least for now."

"They're still . . . almost strangers."

"I know."

"Do you think . . . do you think they're ever gonna . . . y'know. Feel like family?"

Seto leaned back from his desk and sighed. Then, eventually, he stood up. Sidestepped his desk and strode over to his brother. Kneeling down, he looked his brother in the eye. Scratched Sausage behind the ears.

"I can't answer that," Seto said. "But I do know one thing: it's okay to wait." At Mokuba's incredulous look, he went on: "I know, I know, that's real rich coming from me. But think about it this way: when you look at the Yagamis, the adults I mean, do they seem old to you?"

Mokuba thought about this, mulled it over, then shook his head. "No," he said. "They seem pretty young to me."

"They are." Seto tilted his head. "They're twenty-seven and twenty-eight years old, respectively. You'll note, I hope, that that's more than double your age, and still plenty older than I. If they're still young, then so are we. For all the bullshit we've had to deal with, several lifetimes' worth of bullshit, we're still young. So, I think . . . maybe we ought to wait a while. See what happens. I think we might find the answer together, before long."

Mokuba found a smile. "I guess you're right."

"Aren't I always?"

Mokuba rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

"Don't you have a party to host? Get out of here."

Mokuba hesitated for just a moment, then leaned forward and rested against Seto's left side, giving him a one-armed hug so as to avoid injuring his bad shoulder. "I love you, Niisama."

"I love you too, Mokuba."

END.

This one, like the two that came before it, is for Corbi.